Can I Hide With You?
by JessWho
Summary: Riley's men come to Alex's flat, a battered Gene finds Alex hiding behind the sofa.
1. There's No Jam Behind The Sofa

A/N: The problem with telling myself I am going to finish stories I've started before going on to a new one is that I come up with a new idea straight away. This was a one-shot, now it will probably be two, three chapters at the most. haha By posting it I am forcing myself to finish it.

A/N2: Updated and changed in places, because I wasn't happy with it.

* * *

With a crackle of flames they leave her ever so 80's TV set broken, no not broken, dead.  
Alex is about to get up from behind her sofa to douse the flames, but she hears a noise. A foot dragging along the landing outside and the heavy fall of another foot quickly moving to take a burdensome weight.  
She tucks herself farther back into the shadows. Her breathing shallow as she tries to be as quiet as a mouse, as small as a mouse is what she wants to be.  
Her front door is still open, no doubt with the prints of her intruders shoe on it. She hears it scrap across the ground, one hinge must need repairing and she does not have a tool box. She wants to laugh at how her mind has decided to prioritise things.  
She can hear a scrabbling sound and the click before the room is a flood with light.  
She pulls her legs up to her chest so tightly she cannot find the space to breath around her own body. Her lungs already ache and she wishes she had found somewhere else to hide, a cupboard maybe. It is like hiding from the Daleks behind your own sofa; pointless when it offers no real protection, and anyway where is the Doctor when you need him?  
The distorted walk of dragging and stamping stops.  
"Alex?" The voice is a low rumble filled with pain and concern. She would recognise that voice anywhere, but none the less she pokes her head over the arm of the chair with caution. In this world she cannot even trust her own mind not to deceive her. It is him though, Gene Hunt albeit crumbled and bloody.  
He turns to her swiftly, gun raised. She pushes back a cushion so he can see her huddle in the corner all meek and unarmed. She feels young and old all at once, first crawling from her hiding place like a child and then like an old lady using the nearest sturdy object to help pull her up; the sturdy object happens to be Gene Hunt. She does not let him take her weight for long because she cannot be certain that he will not topple down on her.  
Her hand remains in his, but it is Gene that keeps a hold of it. His fingers are warm and safe against her palm in a way that is strangely intimate all things considered. She wants to be strong enough to let go, at the same time as wanting to look weak enough to be pulled into his arms.  
She stares into his eyes for a drawn out second before she feels confident enough to pull away. His face needs ice in a multitude of places and if the noise of his walking is anything to go by somewhere else needs a lot of ice too. Instead of going to get ice his hand tightens around hers, unwilling to let her go.  
"Did they hurt you?" He asks with that same edge of concern and pain. She should get some paracetamol too, for both of them.  
"No, no. I was down there the whole time." She points to her shadowy corner, "They killed the TV," and how foolish she must look bursting into tears like this over an easily replace piece of technology. Sillier still if she says it talks to her. He does not seem to mind how silly or foolish she looks. He groans as he pulls her into his arms, her head furrowing neatly under his chin as he strokes her shoulder.  
"Don't you worry, Bolls, I'll get you a new one, a better one. Tomorrow," he says in a soft rumble stroking his hand down her back. He must be able to feel every shaking sob, so she sets her mind to calming down until the scent of him sooths her shaking into just the rise and fall of continuous breathing and the occasional deep breath which she suspects Gene knows is her smelling him.

Alex wipes her nose with the cuff of her red jumper, whispering nonsense to herself as she pulls away. Her blush creeps into her hair line as in her embarrassment she has been looking anywhere but his face and that is why she notices the black wet patch on his shirt. She squints at the mark her mascara has left on his nice white shirt. It was sneaky like that; mascara, makes you think you have removed it all, but it always clings between the lashes ready to attack unsuspecting shirts.  
"Sorry, I'll get a damp cloth," she says pulling away and walking to the kitchen, "and some ice," she added looking at the front door half hanging off the frame.  
She sets the damp washing up cloth on the draining board and carries a kitchen chair with her, she ignores Gene's inquisitive frown as she pushes the door as near to closed as it is going to get and pushes the chair under the door jab. "Won't be a minute," she said carrying on back into the kitchen.  
Instead of juggling everything she brought through a tray with five glasses on; two of which had a slug of whiskey, another two with water and one empty. She placed the empty one on the chair holding the door closed. "So we hear them straight away," she says in way of answer. Truth be told the smashing glass would give them little forewarning, but she feels better for it all the same.  
She helps Gene with his long coat and suit jacket by throwing them over the arm of the sofa and perches on the coffee table. She hands him two paracetamols and the water.  
"I'll be fine," Gene says shaking his head, "Just give me the whiskey."  
"No," Alex speaks to him firmly, "Take the bloody pain killer and do as you're told for once." She thrusts the glass into his hand and sits waiting until he does as he is told and then swaps the glasses for the one with his beloved whiskey. "See it's not all bad, is it now?" Alex hides a smile at his grunt and starts pulling off his boots.  
"What the hell are you doing?" He asks, trying to pull his foot from her lap.  
"Just indulge me, I'm looking after you." She pulls his sock off and turns her face away, puts his foot on the table and gets up. Leaning over his legs she picks the bag of obligatory frozen peas off the tray and rests it on his red ankle, then sluggishly steps over his legs, picks up her damp cloth from earlier and a tea towel filled with ice.  
She sits down next to him, her legs curling under her as she turns herself bodily to him. Alex takes one of his hands and makes him hold the kitchen towel of ice to his eye, her hand holding his in place until she is sure he isn't going to just let it flop back down into his lap and puts the damp cloth to his shirt.  
One hand on his chest stretching the fabric, the other scrubbing gently. Turning the cloth around for a clean area she works the grey area until it is an off white and continues with little circles only stopping when she begins to feel silly and drops it on the tray.

"Hows the eye?" she asks taking the soggy tea towel from him and putting it on the tray as she picks up her whiskey.  
"Fine, thanks." He nods to include his ankle and she smiles and shrugs, sinking back into the cushions next to him, her head resting against his shoulder. "I'm gonna get that bastard Riley. Cowards came at me from the back, but it takes a different kind of bastard scum to come after you, Bolls. I'll bloody get him, he'll wish he had never crossed paths with me."  
"Gene," Alex says with soft concern, laying a hand on his arm, "Don't do anything stupid, promise me you won't hurt him." She nudges his shoulder and catches his wince before he can hide it.  
"Can't promise I won't give him a good hiding, Bolls, but I won't rip the bastard limb for limb if that makes you feel any better." Alex nods absently as she trails her hand up his ribs, prodding with knowledgeable fingers until Gene shouts and pushes her away, "Will you stop fussing?"  
"No, I'll see if I have anymore frozen vegetables in the freezer," she said taking the defrosting peas off his ankle and carrying the tray out with her.  
"Get me a whiskey while you're up." Gene shouts through to her.  
"You can finish mine," she answers as she puts the kettle on and pulls out mugs.  
"Already did."  
"The cheek," she laughs with mock annoyance, "You'll have to settle for a tea then." While the kettle boils she pops some bread into the toaster, pulls out the butter and raspberry jam.

::

"Do you want jam on your toast, Molls?" Alex calls up the stairs, jar poised and ready to be opened in her hand.  
"Raspberry." She calls as she rushes down with her bag.  
"Come on hurry up, you've got to brush your teeth yet." Alex yawns and catches Molly doing the same. "And what time did you go to sleep last night?"  
"I could ask you the same question?" Molly puts on a mock adult voice so she sound like a scolding teacher.  
Alex rolls her eyes, catches Molly's bubble of laughter and lets it brighten the grey, rainy morning.

::

She forces herself back into the living room with a bag of open sausages wrapped in a towel and a spoon in her mouth the flavour envokng memories she is so scared of losing.  
"Last of the frozen stuff I'm afraid." she says around the spoon of jam. The toast pops up at the same time as the kettle clicks off and she goes back to make tea between buttering two slices of toast and plonking them on a plate.  
She comes back with a jar under her arm and her hands fully occupied by cups and a plate, the latter of which she passes to Gene, before setting the rest on the coffee table.  
"Eat up." Alex smiles at him, undoing the jar of jam and finally taking the clean spoon from her mouth only to dip it into the raspberry goodness and put it back into her mouth with a content sigh.  
She listens to Gene as he bites into his toast with an unsatisfied grunt and she scoops another dollop of raspberry jam onto her awaiting tongue, her taste bud singing with appreciation. It has always been her favourite and Molly's too, there is something about the sharp sweetness that always calms her nerves, which is odd considering all the sugar.  
Gene snatches the spoon and jar from her in one smooth motion and starts loading his second slice of toast with the pink jelly and sliding it around so it reaches the corners and drops the spoon with its crumbs back into the jar before handing it back to Alex, missing her horror filled expression.  
She sighs, looking into the jar appalled, "You have just sullied my jam, what am I supposed to do with this?"  
"Quit moaning. Nothing wrong with a few crumbs, besides your teeth 'll rot if you carry on like that."  
Alex sighs again, puts the lid back on and hands Gene the spoon.  
It takes her a while to realise she is watching him lick the spoon free of jam and crumbs by which point he notices her eyes have not left his mouth.  
She hears him clear throat awkwardly and she quickly meets his gaze. Everything seems to slow as though they have their very own orbit in which nothing else can penetrate, she feels it draw her into to the velvet grey crush of his eyes.  
The blood rises to her cheeks, her exposed collar bone a glowing pink and she is hot, the way he stares back at her makes her feel as though she is boiling in her own skin. It is more embarrassing than crying over a dead television set this reaction of hers.  
He looks at her unblinking and she has to break contact so this time loop can stop, if she mistakenly kisses him she is not certain he will not out right reject her or want something more and she cannot take either.  
All that he means to her is in a little white envelope that if done right he will not read until she is gone. It feels cheap having put it in writing, but it will hurt too much to say it out loud, she will never be able to find the right words anyway and she doesn't think he will understand why she cannot just stay. The truth might just break him and she cannot bare the very thought of it, so she looks down at her lap and yawns.  
The excitement of breaking and entering, and being Gene's nurse maid seems to have caught up with Alex as she slides her legs across the sofa until she is lying with her head on Gene's warm thigh. Her eyes close as she chooses to ignore the rigidity in his body.

* * *

A bit fluffy, I know :)


	2. A Midnight Stumble Into Old Memories

A/N: Taken me long enough I know, but I re-wrote this a dozen times and then again today as soon as it was finished the internet decided to go walkies for five hours...

* * *

Alex still caught on the cusp of consciousness raises her arms up defensively and presses her feet into the arm of the sofa as she fights some imaginary foe.  
A heavy hand shoves her shoulder. "Alex?" Calls a voice deep with worry. In her current state of panic her mind cannot process this person as good, but only as the someone in her dream.

_A baseball bat smashes the TV screen. Breaks her lamp. Sends shards of glass across the room as he brings his wooden bat down on her coffee table. With each hit he only just misses her._  
_She scrabbles along the floor through glass and the compost from her potted Fern, desperately in search of safety, but finding none._  
_Where is Gene?_

"Alex!"  
Her eyes snap open as she hears Gene's voice clearly for the first time.  
She flies out of her seat, knocks her cream coloured phone on the floor as she puts as much space between them as is possible. With eyes wide with unprecedented fear, she watches Gene as he struggles to stand up, for the time being favouring his uninjured ankle to take the strain of his weight.  
"Bolls, it was just a dream. Okay?" He limps to her in evident pain, his eyes betraying his nerves. He looks at her like she is a wild animal and she wonders how much of a mess she must look, she hopes she does not dribble in her sleep or snore.  
Kicking out and probably hitting your boss during a nightmare is bad, but she will be mortified if she discovers she snores in her sleep or makes other cringe worthy noises.  
She is a strong, independent woman she does not need some secretly caring, more often than not bad tempered man with all his superior swagger and sexual innuendoes. He uses foul, usually despicable language and violence, which contrast greatly with her good manners and psychology. Yet despite the all the reasons she should not like Gene Hunt and the mental peep talk she has given herself she cannot deny the fact she only truly feels safe in his presence and right now wishes to be within the circle of his arms, held securely and never lost. Screw the feminist in her, she needs to be the little woman sometimes.  
He unknowingly grants her wish as he cautiously puts his hands on her shoulders and waits for her to meet his eye - probably to reassure himself she is not about to turn around and wallop him one.

With a resolution that she will not cry again, she drops her head against his chest, breathes deeply and concentrates only on the feel of his warm hand sliding down her arm and sneaking around her waist.  
Once her heart rate subsides to a relatively normal pace she nods, steps into his side and pulls his arm over her shoulder so she can help him walk with a little ease to her bedroom.  
"Bolls?"  
"It's too open in there," she says by way of explanation, leaving him sitting on the bed to look indecisively around the room.  
"Another chair?" he asks, a slight chuckle hides under his question and she knows he is watching her arse as she manoeuvres the chair from her dressing table, across the room and wiggles it so it is tight under the door knob.  
"They might come back." Alex pushes her fringe out of her eyes.  
"They won't dare come back with me here."  
"Gene, look at you! You're bruised all over and I'd bet money a pensioner could move quicker than you." Alex smiles teasingly, her tongue catching between her teeth.  
"Oi! I'm trying to cheer you up." Gene huffs indignantly.  
"I'm smiling am I not?" She asks, her head tilting to the side as she regards him.  
Gene snorts, "At my expense."

Sitting softly on the bed next to him, Alex fiddles with the knot in Gene's tie as she slowly loosens it. "You know when I imagined us in my room it was never like this," she said without moving her eyes from the pulse at his throat, it jumped.  
"You thought about it though," he said seemingly astonished.  
Lifting his collar slightly she pull the tie from around his neck and in contemplative silence winds the strip of silk around her finger.  
"Oh, you did," Gene teases, taking her silence as confirmation. She feels his eyes wandering over her face as she stares down at her hands, her cheeks hot having realised she has given away too much.  
"No point blushing now, love, I already know your dirty little secret. Care to share them with me, feel free to talking in detail, embellish a little." His body language intent as he winks, allowing her the choice of taking the whole thing seriously or as a joke.  
"You're not a very good patient." Alex decided not to encourage him.  
"You'd look fantastic in a nurses outfit though," Gene says with a leer, tilting his head at an angle so that she can be sure he is checking her out, nodding agreeably at what he find, even though it is Alex in an over sized jumper and leggings.  
Feigning a yawn to camouflage her smile; how is it this man is capable of making her feel desirable with tear stains on her cheeks she will never know.  
"I think, Mister Hunt, we have both had enough excitement for one day," she says as she pushes herself up and off the bed with a heavy sigh.  
Crouching by her chest of draws Alex procures the only pair of clean pyjamas' and throws the over-sized bottoms at Gene as she passes him on route to the bathroom.

::

The reflection that stares back at her wearily in the bathroom mirror is definitely hers, just she is so pale she could pass for... Alex splashes frigid water on her face washing away the sticky feeling of salty tears and pinches her cheeks a little to add a little stain of colour to her otherwise whitewashed features.  
Opening the bathroom door Alex allows Gene to check her out. She knows she is not exactly lit perfectly from behind and the shapeless shirt she is wears swamps her figure, but the way Gene's eyes travel from her ankles and up makes her feel like she is wearing her best frock. She basks in the feeling for a second longer then she should before switching the bathroom's 'not-so-ethereal-glow-creating' light off as well as the main light in her room, plunging them into darkness.  
With a panicking sensation that the dark might just swallow her up, Alex walks across the room using memory alone and trips on Gene's feet. He howls out into the blackness, even as he catches her.  
Alex grabs his shoulder with one hand, the other landing on her bedside cabinet and he makes another uncomfortable noise as she scrabbles for the lamp.  
"Shit! Sorry, sorry." Alex struggles out of his lap without causing further damage, her face beetroot red at having found herself sprawled over his knees like a clumsy tart.  
With less confidence than she feels Alex crawls onto the bed, pulling the corner of the covers over and slides beneath the cool sheets, Gene's eyes trailing after her.  
"Sorry," She repeats.  
"I'm fine you clumsy mare." She can tell he has already forgiven her and despite having been hurt in the proceedings he seems mostly amused by the whole event.  
She feels smaller beneath the covers, but acutely aware that she is a woman and that he is a man, and it sets her off blushing all over again. She feels like a teenager with all these rushes of embarrassing hormones.  
Alex shivers, the night is a cool one. She is always so cold and Gene with all this warmth is just sitting above the covers, a man so clearly trapped and she guesses she baffles him most of the time, she blows hot and cold, he must think she is half insane.  
She folds the duvet back, pasts the mattress, "Get in," she sighs, pretends to be irritated when she is anything but; more terrified he is gong to laugh at her and call her a tart and mean it.  
He gets in quickly, lays on his back and then changes his mind and roll to face her, "So are we going to act out one of your fantasies starring yours truly?"  
She flinches slight, for once missing the teasing glint and only seeing the leer. It makes her wonder if sometimes she is blind, seeing only what she wants to see, believing anything except the truth.  
What if the truth is he does not care about her, only cares about getting at what is inside her knickers. She has had him wrapped around her finger for a year and a half, but maybe it is a game. She could just be a challenge the old lion cannot turn down.  
Some days she would willing race him to the finish line just to see what is on the other side of that ribbon... Home?  
Staring at the deep bruise on his shoulder, tracing her fingers around so as not to think about anything else. Her face schooled to be impassive, she will not lay herself down as bait so that Ray has ammunition in the morning. She trusts Genes, but there are varying degrees of trust. Sometime those you hold closest are the ones that will break it the easiest. Alex sighs and reminds herself not all men are the same.

The bruise on his forearm is a livid purple that stares back at her angrily. How dare someone hurt her Manc Lion.  
Hers? Since when did she think of him like that?  
Her mind seems to be moving ten to the dozen and her emotions are tracking at a smiliar pace. Must be those pesky 'teenage hormones' or maybe it is his aftershave.  
"Before with the nightmare," he asks obviously trying to divert from his battered ego, "It was just a dream, right?"  
"Honesty I hid behind the sofa, like the Daleks were about to ran hell upon the earth."  
"Dalek's can't get upstairs, Bolls."  
"At least not till old Rusty gets his hands on them." Alex watches her fingers slide gently over Gene's soft shoulder, her mind far away with a little girl on a Saturday afternoon settling down in front of the TV together.

_A blue eyed girl of nine years cuddles sleepily into her side, the blanket off the back of the settee keeps them warm._  
_"Molly, come on sweetheart. Bed time."_  
_"What happened to the Doctor and Rose?" she asks wrapping her arms around Alex's neck._  
_"He's the hero, Molly, he always saves the girl, you know that."_

"Who?" Gene's confused voice interrupts her musings.  
"Never mind. Hasn't happened yet, for you anyway."  
"You do come out with some nonsense." When Alex looks back at him after blinking back the painful memory, her eyes are wet and his smile is the softest she has ever seen it.  
She does it again, takes refuge in him. She does not have anyone she can tell the truth to, not yet. She does have someone who will hold her. He might think she is crazy, but he knows when words are too much.  
Alex shuffles forward, pulls his arm over her waist and snuggles into his chest with a sniff. His scent catches her off guard this time, but it stops her tears just as the first one tips from her bottom lashes and onto his vest.


	3. Mr Bump

A/N: Slightly smaller then previous chapters because this story is exhausting and I have repetitive strain in my wrist. Sorry it has taken me so long to sort this out, I honestly don't know where its going anymore I keep changing my mind but hopefully will get my head in gear soon.

*Rests wrist*

* * *

It is a guilty pleasure to take comfort in him.  
When she dares to take this world seriously it is a wonder he has not removed her from the team, permanently.  
In modern London; her home, she is cooler around her work colleagues and she suspects that although there is respect born of rank and reputation they probably do not like her all that much.  
Yet, here in this werid and wonderful world she has had to start from scratch and somewhat accidently made friends along the way. Friends she hopes will not blink poetically out of existence if... when she wakes.  
Every case might hide the key to getting her home, at least that is what she tells herself when she takes unnecessary risks.  
Alex's hand softly strokes his arm as she thinks about the days when she comes out fighting. Her hunch right. The criminal in cuffs and Gene furious, yet proud of her. Then there are the times when her one woman mission goes wrong and he is there just when she needs him, like he promises. Her constant.

However, the straight jacket would be out if he ever finds out she is from the future or at least believes she is.  
She would rather die than spend her days locked and drugged in an ill-forgotten asylum. But he has had time to get used to her crazy outbursts so he may well take it in his stride.  
With him there is a sense of living when the faded image of her daughter is just a half lost memory.  
This world makes her forget where she needs to be. The dust sheets covering old memories prevent her from the cause, the fight, the promises she has to keep.  
"I want to go home," Alex says quietly with a heavy heart. Home has never been a building with four walls. When her parents died the word lost its meaning. With Pete she was so certain she had found it that she ignored all the warning signs, he was not home, but he left her with one. Molly.  
"You are home..."  
A sob catches in her throat and she knows it is a weakness to cry so obviously. She wishes she could explain it all.  
Molly is her home. She needs her. Wants her to know she is loved. She has wanted so much in her life, but above all she wants a second chance to prove she can be a good mum and to do all the things Alex should have done with her own mother before that life came crashing down at her feet.

Alex pulls the blanket up so Gene can hardly see her. "She makes me strong. I'm not like this, this mess of a person when I have Molly."  
"Bolly," Gene drenches every syllable with his gruff northern accent, "You're the strongest woman I know."  
"I'm not. I'm weak and when I'm weak I forget her." Her voice is broken, but urgent, "I forget the reason why I can't stay here."  
"Why can't you? Couldn't she live with you?"  
Alex laughs, but it is hollow. "I wish it was that simple."  
When she see's her daughter standing in the corner of the room; a sight so rare these days, she wishes whole-heartedly for her to materialise for real.  
Molly would love it here. Alex loves it here. She has a job that is not restricting, but it still challenging, friends, a social life or a semblance of one if you count evenings in Luigi's drinking in excess. Molly has always had a healthy appetite when it comes to Italian food.

::

Alex is exhausted from all the tears and drama, but she is too warm to drop into the realms of sleep.  
She wiggles up slightly, her body moving suggestively against his even if she is unaware of that fact. She bangs the top of her head into his chin, his teeth clicking together.  
"Sorry," she says for the tenth time that night once she has finally broken to the surface. Her face level with his, the  
blanket loose around her shoulders, "Mr Bump." She grins at her own joke.  
"Mr Bump?" He arches his brow at her and smirks, "You're the one who's been doing all the bumping, love."  
"Accidently."  
"Err, it may have escaped your notice, Bolly, but the poor sod doesn't bump into things on purpose."  
Unable to think up a suitable response that isn't, "Yeah, whatever!" Alex pulls a childish face instead.

::

It bewilders her that he is so able to snatch her mind away from topics that set her heart sinking and without meaning to can temporarily ease some of the weight from her taut heart-strings.  
The monologue of her inner psychologist tells her that if these emotions she has found herself plummeting into are being built on the foundation of a bullet and mapped out according to tainted memories and stories told by a - trauma induced - mad man, then the seemingly solid man next to her is someone she has created from these tit bits and has essentially ended in forming her ideal man, as strange as that is.  
The territory her mind has entered is rocky to say the least.  
To people that flirt with their acquaintance and move swiftly on they are opposites, bickering and raging against each other. But those who are around to see the inevitable lull of their heated words, when they finally consent to talk minus the insults, the bond they share shines through.  
They trust. They whisper drunkenly together in Luigi's like lovers. Foreign and all together achingly familiar with each other.  
The way her hand still caresses his bruised shoulder and forearm, the feel of his soft flesh beneath the brush of her finger is recognised by her whole body.  
She has walked the type rope of being his equal. Has learned they excel by centimetres in certain fields, not by miles. Their talents compliment.

"Bolls?"  
His voice yet again brings her out of her preoccupations. It is not the noise after their intimate silence that shocks her, but the deep sultry gravel that accompanies it. She focuses on her hand as the tip of her finger draws invisible circles behind his ear.  
Alex freezes, a tremor in the breath she takes.  
Well, this is unexpected. Butterflies burst forth suddenly and violently as though an unruly cat has pounced among them feeding from silken flowers causing them to scatter higher and higher into the blue.  
She can feel the blush before it reaches the apple of her cheeks, as it creeps up her chest and her throat. Her skin feels red hot under his scrutiny, he must be able to feel the heat of it. She wants to throw the covers back and let the cold evening whisper over her skin, cooling her skin along with her embarrassment.  
The prickle of sweat between her hidden breasts awaken her.

::

"We're not going to die. I can't die." She sounds so sure of herself when in reality, scratch that, in her extremely vivid dream she is anything but calm. She can feel the fear worming its way up from the pit of her stomach until it is swelling inside her throat making her words quiet, choked, scared, "Can I? Can I?"  
She needs him to say, "No Alex, you can't die." She needs it like she needs fresh air, like she needs an ice cold drink and that damn door not to be locked, but he does not give it to her.  
"Come here."  
He lifts his arm and he looks at her like no other man ever has. She does not even think twice, she is sliding under his arm, pressing into his side, head on shoulder, hand on heart.  
The burning lighter flickers, from either lack of gas or oxygen and in that second she knows she does not need words she needs...  
"Gene"  
"I know."

::

She should mumble an apology and turn her back on him, but his eyes hold her enraptured. They are a blue so pale they are like clear shallow waters, except the depth within them knows no bounds.  
He may not have been here when Riley's men were smashing their way into her flat, but he has taken a beating himself.  
Instead of going to ground to lick his wounds and nurse his pride over a whiskey, he found her cowering.  
Even if he is too late to save the TV screen and only luck and the stupidity of two thugs managed to keep her safe, Gene is here for her now in the aftermath.  
He let her have a little human contact, someone to hold on to while the storm carried on around them. He has let her fuss over him like the childless mother she currently is. He takes her away from the nightmares, lets her talk some of her heart ache away.

She is smiling on the inside and cannot be too sure there is not a besotted grin on her face as well, if the uncertain quirk at the corner of his soft looking lips is anything to go by it is most likely she is and by doing so adding fuel to their fire.


	4. Wide Awake But Barely Concious

A/N: Finished at last *Wipes sweat from brow*... I went a little of track with this and realised that although I kept planning to write smut Gene would be in no fit state so many ending have been dismissed.

* * *

Alex can feel the gravitational pull of his body. It grows stronger, her need for him with every twin beat of their hearts.  
She hopes she is not the only one in this boat, she hopes he is there too. Seeing her in the same clarity that she does him.  
She can see the uncertainty in his eyes like the spiral of grey that is painted into his irises, but slowly the corn flower blue at the edges start to flood the murky windows to his emotions.  
Stroking the fine hairs that curl at the back of his ear in an action that she does almost unconsciously, she let its silkiness glide over her skin and settle her nerves.  
She could do it she realises, the imagery of doing it is so clear in her mind.  
Her lips tingle, blood rushing to the surface of them as though they are independently offering themselves up on a silver plate.  
Does she have the guts to go through with it is an entirely different question.

What would it cost her? Gene's friendship? The last piece of her family, her only daughter? Or maybe only vocalising what she feels will barricade her way home.  
This could be the reason for her being here. Not her parents and the unspeakable truth that she has for so long kept herself hidden from, but instead to love again. Not the love she has for Molly, the unconditional love between mother and child, but that of a man and woman or whatever emotion it is that comes closest to it so she can help herself move beyond the past.

* * *

_"The truth is not a switch that can be turned on and off. It is absolute. If you deviate from it for one split second, you invalidate it, you shatter it. There can be no compromises with the truth."_

All what her father said has truth in it, he believed in it and so does she, but only what is in plain sight. She does not believe in the hidden context that is far more sinister.  
Her father had loved her it is something she has always been sure of. She has not allowed herself to believe he could love her too much, her and her mother, but it is the truth.  
He loved them to death.  
For a man so intelligent and her a daddy's girl through and through she had not for some time after witnessing their deaths again realised that he did not understand that love had its limits, he thought it forever. That the vows shared at the alter were justifiable to kill for.  
He let himself become possessed by it, his jealousy, while the world of hers became suddenly and violently unraveled, because all he could see was that one solution for forever and ever to be theirs.

_"But shed no tears for me, Caroline or Alex. We are where we want to be, together, forever."_

_

* * *

_

Alex remembers her younger self before her innocence is lost and the world as she knows it went up in a betrayal of flames.  
She remembers thinking the colours were being misleading on purpose, that they were simply going against what she wanted.  
She is filled with an uncontrollable frustration. She will probably be told she is being childish for throwing her toys, but she does it anyway and crosses her arms. She scowls at the Rubik's cube, her lips pouting sulkily.  
"Alex Price, don't you dare be a quitter!" Her mothers voice should have held admonishment rather than amusement at having been interrupted from her 'important' paperwork, "Come on, keep going. Seven steps to solving it, you said. What's the first one?"  
She still feels a little tearful and remains pouting sulkily outwardly when she is secretly pleased to have her mother lavishing even this small amount of attention on her and she really wants to prove she can do it so her mother will tell her how proud she is. "You start at the top. With the corners."  
"Well, go on then." Her mother encourages.

* * *

Evan, her god-father, her surrogate parent, her friend and confidant, the unwitting destructor of her family. His love for her came at a cost and the price was her mother.  
He wanted Caroline, he had her and she thinks the reason her father, Tim found out is because Caroline was going to leave and Evan was willing to have her. With mother came daughter.  
He had known before she had that her mother had loved her.  
As a child he brought his way into her affections. With retrospective she thinks he may have intended to become her step-father and in a sense he got that only it was without her mother.  
The year of tears, rebellion, boys, Peter, all endured in guilt.  
He loves her because he feels guilty. She does not want love formed by guilt.

* * *

It has been a day beyond all her expectations and she is more than happy to be getting away from the station. Nothing can ever be that simple though, can it? Apparently every world even the fictional variety are difficult, this particular one probably intentionally so.  
Evan catches up with her at the top of the steps just as she is breaking for freedom.  
He should understand the extent of the betrayal he has committed. She trusted him, she will again, she already does. The relativity of time is messing with her head. The Evan that brought her up, who is now looking after Molly, she trusts him, she has to.  
But this Evan the one here, now in front of her apologising, questioning why she is so bothered by the sordid relationship he has had with a respectable married woman, her mother. Well, she does not like him all that much right now.  
"What would you do if your god-daughter found out?" she asks wondering if he truly means what he says; that 'It's finished'. Should she threaten to tell herself, her younger self?  
"She won't. Why would she? It would break her heart." He is almost pleading with her and damn if she won't keep this a secret from herself because she not remember being told about or trying to understand a sexual relationship between her mother and her god-father.  
But back then she had seen everything like a silent black and white film, her naivety preventing her from seeing the colours of she just had not wanted to see them.  
She will find out though, years from now on this very day and she will not know if it hurts more to have been blind all this time or if she had known all along. Either way it breaks her heart and there is no one here now standing on the steps outside Fenchurch East that she wants to fix it for her.

* * *

If time were on her side he, Gene, would be able to continue his work of fixing it for her, but she cannot wait that long.  
The thought of spending that much time separated from Molly is crippling. Molly has filled the void inside her for so long that she forgot a part of her was broken to start with. Now she is scared the space has gotten bigger and that it will need bigger boots to fit it.  
She will miss him, she has admitted that outright on more then one occasion just in case this world is still standing. She does not want him in particular to think she is so cold-hearted that she will move on without so much as a backwards glance.  
She pushes her fingers farther into his hair, cradling his head in her hand, his scalp warm, the length of his golden mane trailing among and over her fingers.  
He is ordinary. Someone she would have over looked at one time, but now she has taken the time to study him, tried and failed to psycho-analyse him, she can see he is exceptional.  
The light tickle of his breath against her lips, exceptional.

* * *

The stark unforgiving purr of oxygen being pushed mechanically into her lungs. The feeling of medication moving sluggishly through her veins.

* * *

Light-headed, body clammy and weighed down by the fever he causes. Her pupils dilate and in the low light they must look like dark pools to him. She blinks slowly, languidly, an unintentional flutter of lashes, her seductively sweet looking lips parted slightly as though frozen in a breathless sigh.  
Her body is alert to its own excitement, lost are her caution and any remaining hesitations.  
This moment already feels like a treasured memory, she has seen it coming from a long way off in her peripheral vision and consciously decided to pretend it would never happen. Scared of not knowing what outcome would greet her.  
Still she is none the wiser, has not learned a thing while playing this game of waiting, but now she is willing to step into the unknown blinded by the rush of untampered emotion. It is the definitive step and she is looking forwards to where it will take her.  
She unweaves her fingers from his hair, she dances the tips of them over the shell of his ear in a passing gesture before stroking around his eye. Delicately touching his lashes, lashes that any child, teenager or woman would kill for.  
She feels his eyes open, the flicker of change in the tension of his cheek as the muscle goes taut and then relaxes again.  
The bloody stain under the surface of his skin receives a gentler greeting. She hovers above it, does not press it. Instead lets the heat penetrate her in a way an open fire would fail to.

* * *

Above the drilling deep within her skull she can feel Molly's small hand slip into her limp, unresponsive one. Her hand is boiling hot in Alex's tepid one and she feels a gentle pressure, the strength carefully measured as Molly squeezes her hand.

* * *

Alex's eyes fly open. She regards Gene warily, but he does not seem to have noticed anything is amiss as he is too busy staring with longing at her mouth.  
She lets the tense line of her lips fade, her tongue smoothing over them, leaving them to appear moisturised and shiny.  
Of its own accord her finger played down the side of his nose to the corner of his mouth, just where its pout starts to take affect. The pale pink is infused with the rush of life. She presses two fingers to them feeling the ghost of his pulse, it is faint, but fast and sure of its self.

Her forefinger drags the natural swell of his bottom lip downwards slightly as she replaces then with her lips, taking his before he can complete the closure of his mouth.  
It is the most tender exchange of the evening.  
His lips are like pressing your mouth to a silk handkerchief, a sweet fresh warmth, fluid when he moves back and recaptures her lower lip in his. He holds her with his teeth, sucking her into his inviting mouth and using his tongue to play with its lusciousness, swirling over her, tasting her, teasing her with a promising kiss.

* * *

She is like, but not a dead body. She has been embalmed. Her blood draining from the tough Common Carotid artery that has been pulled with two fingers from her neck. Her blood is being swapped for formaldehyde, glutaraldehyde...  
The embalming chemical, it fills her veins, clears it of clots, disinfects and preserves her. Concentrated chemicals with more formaldehyde and glutaraldehyde replacing her soft organs giving her weight and substance that death has stolen from her.  
Her skin pale, but with a false spark of life, more chemicals injected into her while she lays waiting endlessly, her face molded into a peaceful sleep. Eyes glued shut. Strokes of a brush, mascara applied. Lips threaded neatly together to stop her mouth from going slack, from hanging open at an almost disfiguring angle, a haunting sight for an open casket. A touch of lip stick.

It twists her soul to think she is like that, even though her heart still pumps, her lungs expand, her brain ticks over, she cannot make a sound or movement. She is held hostage within the walls of her body, unable to let Molly know she is there in the room with her. That if she speaks Alex will listen, wants to listen, but Molly does not speak.  
Alex wants to cry out, to scream, to whisper, but the tiny loops of silk threading her lips together will not move. The invisible glue holding her unseeing so she cannot open them, cannot have Molly see the small flicker of lashes and lean over into her line of sight.  
Why does she have to be embalmed like this? Embalmed, existing. What keeps her frozen in this state of rest?

* * *

Alex's mouth on Gene's is a fierce display of kinetic energy. Her one-minded devotion in possessing him reminds her that not everything is as it seems.  
A sharp tongue be the disguise of a lovers tongue, a secret poet.  
Her body hides in his. Chest to chest, the thinnest layer of silk between them, gliding over skin. His hands on her shoulders.  
His heart beating, strong and alive against her right breast a reminder that blood red with oxygen and blue without flows through her every organ from head to toe, not a drop of embalming fluids.  
Hi hands out stretched on the plains of her back.  
She realises that at some point in her desperation to feel, to be alive, she has re-arranged their positions from side-be-side to her laying full length over his entire body.  
Her night shirt has ridden up to her waist, the excess fabric caught up between them. Gene's hands find the exposed skin at her lower back, fingers running over the bumps of her spine and pausing.

She has seen him looking. She has walked away smiling to herself, giving an extra swing to her step because she knows his eyes are following her.  
Her tongue duelling with his, dragging over teeth, probing the soft side of his mouth, where their lips are locked in embrace.  
Her hand reaches back to find his larger one and plants it on her behind where it automatically clenches against the welcome roundness that it has been given to explore, fondle, grope inappropriately and molester. She can sense in his eagerness a man who has waited for this, dreamed, pondered in his office and fantasised this flesh in his palm.  
Skin both soft and rough with calluses win against any rival hands that have in her mixed up past future touched her. The ghost of them pushed aside by all that is this man.

* * *

The distance changes, it is minute, but a change none the less.  
She still cannot move, she tries, but it has to be enough that she can feel some give in the stitches, the glue weakens atom by atom.  
From deep under the waves Molly's voice cuts through the static.  
"For god sake, just wake up!" Her voice loud, clear and angry.  
Alex can hear heavy shuddering breathes, a chair scrapping on linoleum flooring, then the sudden shift of tension as Molly climbs on to the bed next to her. Her face burrows into Alex shoulder, dampening it with tears.  
"Please." Her daughter begs, clasps her Mothers hand, tight, nails pushing into her cool palm. "Please, give me something, let me know you're there, Mum."  
Alex can feel the sterile light like a hot poker on her eye lids, all she can see is a red glow. The temperature is quickly eaten up by the room so despite the warm nature of such a colour it leaves her cold. It is something though, it really is something.  
It gets brighter still. Suffocating some darkness, forces itself against the shutters covering her eyes. She drinks, swallows the light down, stares at the fine web of veins the only things she can see. She does not fight it, she rides on it.  
"Please, please, please... If you... If you love me, you'll wake up."  
Molly's last ditch attempt makes Alex's heart contract painfully. In that second Alex is convinced if Molly were to look at the monitor at the hospital bedside she would have seen the electric line jump, erratic and high.  
The words that are locked within her are soft, motherly, 'I do. I do. Oh, Molls, I do love you. I'd move heaven and earth to be with you, honey."  
The light is fading. The darkness does not creep it eats at her, taking some of her strength.  
She concentrates on the hand in hers, Molly's sobs washing over her aching mind.  
With all the strength her body has retained she wills her brain to spark into making and re-building connections between mind and body.  
Her hand flexes and tightens around Molly's.  
"Mum?"

* * *

When she looks directly at him his eyes are knowledgeable, it shocks her nerves like a blow. She cannot swim, she is drowning in the depths of his soul. His eyes are trying to speak to her in a language she cannot decipher.  
She sits up and moans slightly at the intimate contact of sitting in his lap. Arching her back Alex pushes her hair from her face, his hands at her rear partially sat on. She breathes deeply before she looks down at him.  
He takes her breath away, reaches into her and draws it from her lungs. With his slight fringe flopping over his forehead, the rest of his hair sticking untamed and at all angles over her pillow, eyes hooded with desire, there is nothing quite so exquisitely delicious, as him blissed out after a kiss, an earth shattering, life giving kiss.  
She is poised like a wanton goddess reveling in the deep, dangerous waters of love. Each crash of water on her shore's hiss as her ligaments ignite, welding, mending.  
The burn of his loves fixing, the calm intensity of his touch a balm on her fragility.  
Gene is her constant, her rock when everything else slips from its holding. When her world is untangling, falling apart and exploding before her he is the hand that catches her, comforts and hides her from prying eyes. He keeps her fighting, distracts her from her harrowing grief.

She has to kiss him again, he means so much, too much and she has to have it all while it is here for the taking.  
She takes with guilt gnawing at her innards, she knows with sickening truth that she is not enough for him, that she will keep some part of herself from him, words that cannot be shared on either side.  
Actions speak louder then words.  
She kisses him in a slow gentle greeting. Teasing with nips and the touch of tongues to lips. Daring, but not taking more, she decides instead to enjoy its sensuality. Kissing like it is a memory they will take beyond the grave.  
She pulls his shoulder knowing he is her homecoming. Rolls them. He is her postage stamp. Mouth still attached as he arrives above her. Posting her home. His baby soft blond hair brushing her temple.  
She knows she loves him, but the words seem stark, real, sat at the front of her mind waiting for her to be brave and unfurl her tongue and let the words slide without fault. But his tongue entwines with hers and thought the moment is still available she pushes it aside.  
The regret is immediate and will be so for awhile, forever, but she has skipped over unnoticed chances to get him before and saying, 'I love you' would be the key turning in the lock. She has to stick to her objective, her promise that has laid dormant for over a year.

* * *

A disco of lights shining into her eyes, she things they are white, but then they flicker at the edges blue, yellow, pink and they sway up and down, side to side as though dancing. She watches them, tries to move her eye with or away with them, there is too much light for her to decide what he is doing with them.  
"She squeezed my hand, I'm not lying."  
That light snaps off with a click and the blackness returns the imprints of the shine in dazed dots across the back of her eyes lids. It must have been a doctor.  
"Is she waking up?"  
Alex lays still, on the cusp of consciousness waiting for a reply.

* * *

She had closed her eyes and again she was in that room with her future waiting for her, but when she opens them, struggles passes a weight heavier then sleep, she is with him.  
She hates that she cannot wake up before she falls too deep into this world, too deep into Gene arms. She has to stop thinking of this as real it's must be what keeps her tethered. She had promised herself no attachments, but that is exactly what she has formed with him from the day they met. They had hissed and railed, but in the end settle into a routine of rows, coalitions and alcohol as much alcohol as they could contain before one of them pleaded mercy or passed out.

_"I thought we'd sorted all this, Bolls. You're not going anywhere unless I say so. And I don't say so."_

His voice echoes back to her from a few weeks ago. She should have paid more attention to what he was saying, should not have allowed herself to become so immersed in him as a person and a man.  
All this time. She had believed wholly that she had invented this world, Christ, she had proclaimed that it was of her making too many time to count.  
That knowledge that had, is still in his eyes is because he knows. The bastard knows, she tries not to be angry and she is not, well, entirely. She is relieved this world it will continue on without her, it will not blink out and disappear.  
She whispers into his mouth, eyes looking up at him beseeching her freedom at the same time as telling him he is wanted, "Let me go."  
He snatches his mouth back, it's not done viciously but she can see it has cost him something. "Can't." He looks away and down just like a little girl she knows.  
"You know. How long have you know? She's been waiting and it's been killing me, you knew it was killing me. How long?"  
He glances down to her mouth and back up again. "The kiss. I didn't.. I..."  
"You what? Gene, come on, please." She shakes his shoulder as his mind moves miles away.  
"You can go home." He says it like he is reiterating a point, not releasing her.  
"Then let me."  
"You're not ready yet and neither am I" He says, his last words coming out like his voice is sore and scratchy.  
Alex looks at him with something akin to shock and knows an emotion similar has skipped across her face.  
She wants to act on the compulsion to disagree, to tell him she is ready, to have and to leave him at a moments notice, but she isn't, not really. If she is ready she would no longer be here.  
She is not healed, not fully, not yet. Her heart needs fixing as much as her head.  
Alex hopes Molly understands she needs a day or more, and in the end though leaving fixed, her heart will have become two pieces of a whole and each half will be devoted souly to their respective loves; Molly and Gene.  
She will be worlds apart from him, her Gene Hunt, but something tells her when she is ready to depart from what she once would have called a dystopia, it will only be a temporary transfer.

_"Don't be worried. I'm coming back, I promise you. You have to believe me, Molls"_

_

* * *

_

Finished.

A/N: During the writing of this I read Tethered by Amy MacKinnon, which opens with a fasinating scene about embalming and I couldn't help, but use it as a analogy for Alex laying in waiting, even though she is not actually dead.

Thank you for reading. Sorry for the lack of smut.


End file.
